Rather Late
by Cowbelle
Summary: Reunion fic. John's perspective because reasons.
1. Chapter 1

And suddenly he was standing there, Sherlock. You know when you get really worked up about something online and lose the ability to type? That's what the inside of my head sounded like. AZSDFBQKAJL;;;;SDSLJSSSSSSSSHERLOCK. I…yes? No. No. THWACK! And he was recoiling, rubbing his jaw, hurt, but understanding. Christ. Did I do that? Must have done. I thought back almost four years to the last time I'd done that, before the fall, the hound, the woman. It had felt bloody fantastic then. So why not now? Jesus fuck. WHAT?

No. No this has happened before John. No. This isn't real. It can't be. And yet, he's never done that before. Oh Christ that voice. God. Haven't heard that in a while, have we Johnny? No. Has it always been that deep? Good lord.

"Hello John." Oh crap.

And darkness. Bright, merciful black. Just a dream then. Again. Oh well.

* * *

As I came to he was peering at me, worried eyes overflowing with…Jesus, was that emotion I saw in the eyes of the great Sherlock Holmes? Gah.

"You were dead," I managed, "I saw you, all bleedy and very not alive."

He smiled weakly, apologetic and very un-Sherlock.

"Hush now John. It's _all _fine."

I reached up to touch his face, to run my thumbs over his cheekbones. Just to make sure it was really him and he was really real, I told myself. That was why. Yes. I brushed over the tender spot where I'd hit him, I wouldn't say sorry. Not just yet. He deserved it anyway. Didn't he?

"Did you miss me?" He said, with just a hint of laughter. Bastard. I opened my mouth, not quite sure what my sharp retort would be, but certain that one would come. Nothing did. Well, nothing except more blackness. Does blackness count as nothing? I feel like it should.

When I emerged from the darkness again, he was still looking down at me, still on the verge of tears.

"Get out," I said, "Please," and as he placed my head gently on the floor I added as an afterthought, "But don't go far." A creak of the tenth stair and he was gone again. That was that. He wasn't going to come back was he? No, this was all some elaborate dream. Poor old Johnny's mind winding him up again, like it had that time someone had pulled me away from the edge of the roof of Bart's and I caught a glance of a shock of dark hair and a swirl of wool sweep back inside.

* * *

I hauled myself to my feet and made for the kitchen, tea. Tea was always appropriate, and seeing as I had no idea what the situation called for, it must have been tea.

After my second cup I heard a scream from downstairs. Mrs Hudson? I pounded down to her flat to see Sherlock standing over her, perplexed and worried.

"John she fainted." Yes, thank you for that Sherlock.  
"You're...I oh God Sherlock."  
"Later John," he said and he was entirely right, a woman of Mrs Hudson's age should not be fainting willy-nilly.

* * *

Much later, once Mrs Hudson was conscious and relaxed with copious amounts of, you guessed it, tea, Sherlock and I retired to 221B.

"I...seriously Sherlock. Why?"  
He smirked, "Not 'how' John? I'm disappointed."  
"Shut up and tell me." Prat.  
Sherlock squirmed and avoided my gaze, "Moriarty, he said if I didn't...he had snipers on-" Sherlock broke off looking vaguely distressed.  
Oh.

* * *

**Hallo, so I wrote this a very long time ago and only just wrote it up. I assume I'm going to add more to this, but I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it. **

**You know I like it when you review but no pressure. **

**x**


	2. Chapter 2

"So," I said, with an attempt at nonchalance, "Do you plan on telling me how you survived?"  
The bastard merely winked, "A true magician never reveals his secrets."

"Fine," I said shortly, "At least explain to me why you told me all those things before you did. You knew I wouldn't believe you."  
Sherlock's face fell, "I had hoped you wouldn't. Thank you."

God the man was such a prat, if I didn't love him I dread to think what I'd have done. Woah woah woah Johnny hold up there. Love? I…oh my God. Crap. Um. Right. Okay. Love. Yes, I…guess I do. Huh, this is new. Isn't it? No, no not really. I love him. God everyone else was right all along.

"Yeah. Well I'm off to bed," I heaved myself out of my chair and made for the stairs.

"John, wait," Oh, "I'm sorry."

I walked back over to the sofa, now or never Watson.

"I missed you."

"Really?" Sherlock's eyes misted up again.

"Yes you moron, really."  
Sherlock pulled himself up and dragged me close.

"I'm never leaving again," he muttered into my hair.

"Yeah, I'm never letting you go now," Come on, here we go John, "I…I love you Sherlock."

Right it was out there. Sherlock pulled away and studied me closely.

"Me too." He smiled and that was that. I don't kiss and tell.

Okay fine. I do on occasion, not now though, not with my sister reading this, and reporters just hanging on my every word. Be damn glad I'm telling you this bit.

Really though, it's not important, this isn't sixth form anymore, no one needs to know just how soft and tender that man can be, nor just how not soft and tender he can get. No one needs to know about…well. Like I said, you don't need to know.

Really what was important here was the fact that I love Sherlock and he loves me and that's great. I will admit that he wasn't best pleased at my calling him 'soft and tender'. Apparently he's not an expertly cooked cut of meat, he is a strong and passionate lover and maybe you should use those words in future, John.

* * *

I woke up the next morning, still unsure if the day before had really happened, opening my eyes I realised that either it had, or I was going insane again. Sherlock was indeed lying next to me, face slack, curls a mess, and utterly beautiful. Thank fuck for that. He opened his eyes at last, and while I felt more than a little odd (I _had_ just been watching another man sleep) he seemed unperturbed.

"Hi," he mumbled, "Sleep well?"  
Oh gosh, was the great Sherlock Holmes asking me how I was? This was very new.

"Yeah, not bad, you?"

"Better now…" he hesitated, blushing slightly, "…now I'm back. With you."

"Yeah. Me too." I remember confessing. Then there was tea and kisses and a day at the surgery. Honestly it's still all a bit of a fuzzy blur of feeling good. For the first time in three years I felt halfway decent again.


End file.
